


American Massacre

by AshSPN



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Azazel is a ferret, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1512830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshSPN/pseuds/AshSPN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the year 2017, it is 2 years after what is being called the second Holocaust started in Europe. With most American soldiers in the Middle East, they couldn’t send many more to Europe without a draft. When America attempted a draft, Americans rebelled. Without help from America, people from other countries soon left their home countries. Immigration influx rose by 43% and jobs were beginning to grow scarce. It’s been a year since the first ever American Massacre. This is an event that takes place on the 4th of July that allows even American citizens to murder immigrants who had migrated there in less than 5 years. During the first major influx of immigrants, there was a 13 year old boy named Balthazar Roche who went with his mother and grandmother. His grandmother died for unknown reasons in their first apartment before the first Massacre. His mother died in the Massacre and he was left to try and get somewhere safe. With the help of a man who knew his grandparents, Balthazar is given a fake name, a fake age, an a fake ID, as well as a bracelet to cover up the number he had been given to mark him as an immigrant. </p><p>This story has been discontinued due to Louisville Purge and developed trigger point</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Massacre

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of work is subject to rating changes and more tags will be added as I go along. Please make note of the tags whenever you come to read. Thank you to anyone who reads this. Some things you will need to look out for in the future are: graphic depictions of violence and underage sexual content. As of right now, I do not plan on having any major character deaths or rape/non-con. Remember, keep checking the tags!

Heat is creeping up the back of his neck as he feels moist, soft lips press along his bare shoulders, a broad chest pressed against his back, and French is spilling from his own lips in a rush. He raises his arms some and wraps them around the neck of the person behind him, fingers pushing into the thick locks as his ear is lightly nipped at. A pleased moan escapes his lips and his head falls back against his shoulder, his voice dying away as a hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his air supply. His eyes fly open from their half-lidded state and teeth sink into his neck, the other hand holding his hands behind his back, rendering him helpless as the fingers tighten. His lungs were beginning to burn, his eyes begin to water, and there’s a deep too-familiar chuckle sounding in his ear, AC/DC’s Highway to Hell playing somewhere faint in the background. “I’m going to send you straight to hell, exactly where you belong,” the voice growls in his ear and the victim tries to fight against the hold. A fingernail begins digging into his neck, searching for the jugular. The nail gets sharper and sharper until-

Balthazar’s eyes fly, his neck sweaty and warm, something tickling his nose, and his breathing is labored. His hands move to his throat and he finds a big thing of fur draped across his neck that he was beginning to be able to make out. He lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes that, hey, I’m not being murdered, and lightly picks up the animal from his neck. It gives a sneeze of distaste as Balthazar lifts him, but Balth smiles up at the ferret in his hands. “Hey there, baby,” he coos at him while he sits up, petting the ferret when he puts him back down again. “I’m sure we’ve discussed this, Azzy, you can’t be sneaking into my room when I’m sleeping, people might talk!” He teasingly scolds before he’s running his hand through his shaggy, blond hair as he pushes the ferret lightly to the side, hand getting nipped at. “Oh, your papa won’t be very happy with me, Azzy.”

It’s a daily routine, nearly, if Balthazar was truly honest. It’s the year 2017 and Balth is stationed in a house somewhere in Kansas; Lawrence, if he remembers correctly. He had only been living here for the past 5 months, if not less, here in the house that he had no right to be calling home, so he didn’t. It had been two years since what is being called the second Holocaust began. The influx of immigrants had been raised by nearly half to get to America and Balth still remembers when he stepped off the plane with his grandmother and his mother in front of him and behind him, urging him on. It had been terrifying, to say the least. So many different languages around him and the dirty looks they would get from the Americans. The date had been March 23, 2015, the day Balthazar stepped off the plane. It still remembered how it was. He remembered the twins that cried two rows in front of them, with their Italian parents apologizing and handing out earplugs and candy as apologies. He remembered the older woman his grandmother talked with in a language he didn’t know. He remembered his mother muttering something under her breath in English that he didn’t want to hear. His mother was never a good person.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and rubs his hands down his face slowly, because 2 years wasn’t enough time to keep you safe in this world anymore. He couldn’t help but wonder if those twins and their parents, if that older woman, if any of the people that were on that plan besides himself were alive. The immigrant influx had increased by 43% after Balthazar had immigrated there himself and July 4, 2016, the day that was marked as America’s ‘Independence Day’, now also marked an annual massacre, called the American Massacre, where every American had the right to murder any person who had immigrated to the United States in less than 5 years. Once you hit 5 years, you were safe for the rest of your life. It had only been a little over 2 years for him, which means he still has 3 years before he’s safe, but as of right now, he felt he was as safe as he could get in the situation.

It’s already July 1, 2017. Balth wasn’t ready for that to happen again.

It’s 15 minutes because his alarm was supposed to go off, the clock reading 5:15AM, but that was just another average day still. He stands up, stretching and walking towards the bathroom that was joined to his room to get his shower in, after disabling his alarm before it could go off, Azzy curling up against Balth’s pillow as Balth goes. For the past 5 months, this is how things had been going. Now, a 15 year old Balthazar Roche was under the name Balthazar Victor, an 18 year old who had been in America since he was 13. He strips of his clothing and starts the shower, stepping into the stream of water hot enough to turn his skin red as he tries to keep the memories at bay to no avail.

His mother, his grandmother, and himself had found themselves in a small apartment, much smaller than the farm they had back in France, but they couldn’t stay there anymore. At the farm, Balth had a horse, a beautiful, black thoroughbred whom he had named Beau and spent hours with because making friends back at home was hard for him when he didn’t fill he fit in at all. It was two weeks before they packed their bags and abandoned their home with their savings that the soldiers came through. He didn’t know where they came from, which country they had been traveling from, but they had jumped the fences while Balth was in the house helping his grandma with the pasta. One moment, Beau had been fine, grazing, and the next time Balth knew, he heard a gunshot and he looked out, seeing Beau fall lifeless.

His muscles were drawn tight over bone as he scrubs his body, trying to clean away the memory, only to have it replaced with another. They had only been in America for a few weeks when Balthazar had woken up and found his grandmother dead, body cooling and stiff, and it was hard to comprehend because he had always thought his grandmother would never die, but he couldn’t mourn, because his mother packed them up, left the body, and they went to the streets, and sobbing on the streets could mean trouble. They took a bus to Missouri, where his mother met with a friend, and Balth told himself that his grandmother was just back home in France taking care of Beau while he was on vacation.

He had a tough three years, really. Balth wouldn’t complain though, because didn’t everything happen for a reason? He lost his best friend, he lost his grandmother, and then when the Massacre came along, he watched his mother be murdered by a group of teenagers barely older than him. She was drunk and sloppy, hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t hidden fast enough.

He slips the soap down his eyes and stares at the tattoo on his wrist that he had been marked with to prove he was an immigrant. He had been given one when they were herded from the streets to a building. He had screamed, felt violated because his fourteen year old body had been destroyed. They were given the numbers in September of 2016, two months after his mom died, because people had also killed Americans during the massacre, which they wouldn’t let slide. His number read 032415012402. It signified the day he arrived in the USA and his birthdate. 2002. He remember how his generation was turning out, the big batch of spoiled kids. Now, he honestly hope they would all survive.

His number is written in small numbers horizontally along his wrist, almost like a bracelet. Ironically, that’s how he hid it. He had a bracelet that was tight to get on as it was and it clung to his skin, but it told his occupation: maid. That’s what he was, here in this house where they gave him a room and food and treated him better than other people did. They were nice people, the Shurleys. That’s who they were. They were the single father, Chuck Shurley, and his children: Michael, Lucifer, Castiel, Raphael, Anna, and Gabriel. The children there are listed from oldest to youngest. Each of them are special in their own way, but one of them stuck out more to Balthazar than the others.

Lucifer Shurley, named after the devil before he fell from the heights of Heaven to the pits of Hell, was living up to his fallen angel name. He was devious, he was teaching Gabriel how to get on the nerves of his other siblings, and he was more or less sin on legs. He had been the star of Balth’s dreams for what seemed to be years, but had in fact only been a few months. Each dream ended the same, with the other nearly murdering him, but every night he was back. Balthazar must like the thrill, must like the risk, but it was more than obvious that Lucifer hated him, not to mention Balth worked here under a fake age and name, plus he mostly hated Lucifer too.

Lucifer was the second oldest of the family at 16, Michael being 18, Castiel being 15, Raphael being 15 (Raphael was adopted, a different ethnicity than the other children, but no one but Lucifer mentions it), Anna being 13, and Gabriel being 10. Their mother had died during birth with Gabriel, that’s what Chuck had told Balth, even though he never asked. Chuck tended to get talkative when he drank, and Chuck drank more often than not, but never too much like Balth’s own mother did.

Balth had only gotten the job because of a man that he met on his way to California, when he was on the streets of Kansas, preparing to whore himself out just to get the money to get there. He was a stocky but sturdy man in a nice suit and he had a Scottish accent. He had seen Balth and approached him, nearly sending the teen into a panic attack. The Scot was about 30 years old, but he seemed ageless to Balth. He hadn’t say anything, just slipped Balth a card, some money, and took his arm in his and led him to a car. Balth should have been afraid, but he hadn’t been. There was no point in being afraid when he was going to die at some point anyway.

The man had let Balth into a nice car and was driving before he spoke. He told him his name was Crowley, that he didn’t have a last name that he gave out, and he could help Balth. Balth didn’t know how to respond at first, but Crowley continued. He told Balth that he once knew Balth’s grandmother back in France, as well as his grandfather, and had given his grandfather a break from his beef with the mob. Balth didn’t even know about that side of his grandfather, but when Crowley showed pictures, Balth couldn’t not believe him. Balth was given a fake ID, a fake name, a fake birth date, and was given the bracelet that said he was a maid, because he was going in as a maid that Crowley didn’t need anymore and was getting a reference to an American author with a large family whose last maid had left because of one of the sons (and Balth now knew that the son had been Lucifer and Gabriel). Along with the bracelet, he had been given a fake piece of skin to cover up his number, just in case they looked during the interview. They had to dispose of it after.

Chuck had nearly hired him on the spot, especially when he realized that Balth would be able to handle Lucifer’s snark when Lucifer made some comment about Balth being a twink and Balth made a comment back about how Lucifer was just jealous he would never get someone as gorgeous as him. Lucifer had visibly bristled, having not expected the comeback, and told Balth he was just jealous Balth was the one jealous because he would never be able to see what got Lucifer all of his lovers. Balth had ignored him. It was the first banter of many, some of which were more intense than others. It was 2 weeks into the job that Balth and Lucifer had both left the room with bruises covering their bodies. Chuck had sat them both down and had a stern talk that terrified Balth while Lucifer remained indifferent. Balth doesn’t try to be in a room alone with Lucifer anymore. Anytime they are, it gets ugly fast.

Batlh would never be sure of the real reason he was so attractive to Lucifer when he had such an ugly personality. He was naturally gifted though, Lucifer. He played numerous instruments easily, as if he spoke their language, which intrigued Balth when he heard Lucifer playing in his room in the basement.

Balth shuts the shower off and steps out, drying himself off and wrapping a towel around himself, glancing at himself in the mirror. He looked a bit exhausted, as he wipes his hand across the mirror and looks at himself before looking down at his number on his wrist in distaste. 032415012402. That’s all he was to society. That’s all he would ever be until 2020. He felt sick to his stomach. He opens the bathroom door and lets out a shocked noise the moment he looks out. Lucifer is lounging on his bed, looking like he had just woken up, and Balth is quick to hide his wrist but making a natural gesture of immediately making sure the towel stayed put.

“Look who I found in your room again,” Lucifer comments out in a low rumble, causing Balth to have to suppress a shiver from running down his spine as he watches Lucifer lift the ferret by the scruff of his neck from where they had been playing around. The animal struggles for only a moment before going lax and Balth stays quiet. “Azazel, my ferret. Mine.” The words come out sharp and dangerous, Balth’s pulse picking up. This is why he tried to avoid being in the same room. “Get kicks out of stealing other people’s things, Balthy?”

The words cause a scowl to flash across Balth’s face and he wants to cross his arms across his chest, but instead rolls his eyes. When he looks back, Lucifer’s eyes were raking across his body and he couldn’t suppress the shiver this time. A smirk flashes across Lucifer’s lips as his eyes snap back up to Balth’s. Balth’s jaw tightens at the look and he tilts his chin up. “I need to get dressed, Lucifer. You should really leave.”

“You’re awfully secretive, Balth,” Lucifer comments, as if Balth hadn’t just requested his leave, and Balth’s body tenses for a single moment before he forces himself to relax. Balth quirks a brow at the devilish teen and Lucifer returns the gesture. “I hope you’re not a Rat,” Lucifer drawls out and Balth’s jaw tightened.

“Go to hell, Lucifer,” he bites out. He hated the term. It was so filthy, so wrong, the term Rat. It was the way to refer to the immigrants who came to America for safety, calling them Rats, like the rats you see on the streets of New York who infected their surroundings and stole the goods of humans. “Get out of my room.”

“It’s such a big risk, having someone like you around. Having someone who seems to support the Rats more than the Americans,” Lucifer continues on, sitting up now, eyes sharp as he looks at Balth, putting his ferret on the bed. When he stands, Balth tries his best to stand his ground, but Lucifer is intimidating. “You could get us all killed,” he hisses out before a bitter smirk crosses his lips. “If you were a Rat.”

“But I’m not,” Balth snaps out, eyes hardening when he sees Lucifer’s eyes glance to his wrists, as if searching for incriminating evidence. Balth jerks his wrists back and just barely manages to keep his towel around his waist. “Get out!” Balth demands harshly, his voice raising, “You have no right to be in my space!”

“Keep your voice down, drama queen,” Lucifer bites out, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’m watching it. The first sign that you’re a Rat, or a Rat-supporter, and I’ll personally kill you myself. You’re nothing but a slave.”

With those words, Lucifer picks Azazel up again and briskly moves them out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The room was eerily silent and the dread settles over Balth when he realizes even here, he was doomed to die.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments would be appreciated!


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